


Apeiron

by mitchpell



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canonical Character Death, Gen, Introspection, apeirophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26243461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitchpell/pseuds/mitchpell
Summary: There are large gaps of redacted information in the files of the Black Widow program; Natasha has long since learned to accept that there are things she will never know.  Clint begins to go grey at the temples and it takes him increasingly longer to recover from getting thrown off buildings - Natasha still doesn't look a day past 30.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton
Comments: 12
Kudos: 30
Collections: Be Compromised Promptathon





	Apeiron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alistra (ALeaseInWonderland)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/gifts).



> Written for [Alistra's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALeaseInWonderland/pseuds/Alistra) prompt in the Be_Compromised - Epic Promptathon 2020.
> 
> There are large gaps of redacted information in the files of the Black Widow program; Natasha has long since learned to accept that there are things she will never know. Clint begins to go grey at the temples and it takes him increasingly longer to recover from getting thrown off buildings - Natasha still doesn't look a day past 30.
> 
> Thank you to [Hircine_Taoist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hircine_Taoist/pseuds/Hircine_Taoist) for all the help as my beta reader!

There are enormous segments of redacted information within the Black Widow Program files. 

Entire segments, huge chunks of Natasha’s youth, barred out and wiped from existence. She has long since acknowledged that there are aspects of her life, things done to her in the name of Mother Russia, in the name of science, that she will never know about. While she has accepted this truth, that doesn’t make it an easy pill to swallow.

The results were evident around her. Most notable in the steady influx of pubescent faces, the newest rookie agents being brought in to replace those no longer suited for the field. She hadn’t been young when Barton brought her in. Well beyond the stereotypical status of rookie in both age and experience, she entered the ranks of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the lower-middle quadrant of the age bracket. Not that it mattered. 

The nature of her “recruitment,” the concern regarding her loyalty, the fear of triggering brainwashing protocols, and of course her extensive skill set, all played a role in limiting her “allowed” circle of co-workers. So while she’d observed and categorized the evidence, she merely filed it away as nonessential intel. 

It didn't strike a chord until she saw it in Clint. It was subtle at first, evident only outside of the field. The dash of salt that snuck its way into the heavy stubble he gets after being stuck in the field for days on end. Laugh lines that carved their way into permanent creases around his eyes. Groans that accompanied the hobbled step or two he needed to work out the stiffness after sitting for too long in front of the TV.

His ability to perform during missions continued unaffected. He maintained his physique, keeping himself in overall peak condition, refusing to slow or tire prematurely. He preserved his hand-to-hand skills, continuing to subdue those twice his size and half his age. His marksmanship never faltered, even after a pair of reading glasses forced their way onto his desk. He remained the preferred choice, and in some cases the only choice, for missions requiring a sniper or overwatch.

Recuperation, however, is another story. Ice packs, often in various stages of melting, seemed to follow him everywhere. It got to the point that, if she didn’t know better, she’d suspect that his dormitory was either their breeding ground or their mortuary. Bottles of aspirin and ibuprofen, or other mild forms of anti-inflammatory, made their way into his medicine cabinet, desk drawers, and eventually his bags of tactical gear. He started adhering to the amount of downtime recommended by medical without complaint and willingly attended all physical therapy sessions. The leave he’d stockpiled over the last twenty years ceased to accumulate, as he eagerly soaked up all the extended downtime he could.

It was all perfectly normal; the natural progression of time and the tolls a physically and mentally challenging job has on the body. She teased him good-naturedly about it, knowing full well that she’d catch up to him eventually. Thirteen years to be exact, if her knowledge of her birthday was accurate. Unfortunately, at first to his chagrin and eventually her disillusionment, it never came.

Initially, she chalked it up to superior genes combined with, work hazards aside, a generally healthy lifestyle. However, as year after year passed by, after she hit her thirties and rapidly closed in on forty, she continued to look no older than twenty-five, without a slightest touch of grey or hint of a wrinkle. Even Steve, a man whose super-soldier serum in conjunction with the Artic ice had kept him perfectly preserved for 70 years, started showing the signs. Yet she remained flawless, a pristine doll that the Red Room had chosen to animate.

Truthbetold, it frightened her. The possibility of being left behind, of being forced to watch all those she cared about wither away. It was a selfish feeling. One she didn’t dare voice considering all of those who were already living that same nightmare due to their failure, her failure, against Thanos. She couldn’t confess to them, to Clint, that she was afraid of losing everything, when they already had. So she bottled it up and pushed it aside, cataloged it as weak and irrelevant and therefore disposable.

The fear, however, refused to be discarded. Like one of Clint’s ridiculous boomerang arrows, it kept coming back, refusing to leave her in peace. Steadfastly determined, it followed her across the galaxy, lightyears beyond Earth and everything she knew, to Vormir. There, it lingered under her skin, at the edge of her subconscious, poised to strike at the slightest provocation, like the necessity of a sacrifice. 

She was the logical choice. For reasons that went beyond the Red Room and the Black Widow Program, that went beyond the massive red stain in her ledger, a mark that could never be scrubbed clean no matter how hard she tried, it needed to be her. It had to be her.

Clint was far from clean. She knew he carried his own crimson mark, one that had grown considerably since the Snap, since the loss of his family. It was the entire reason he was here. In truth, it was hers as well, to reclaim what had been stripped from them. It was why she could not allow Clint to sacrifice himself here, on this barren rock. He had something and someone to live for, to depend on, who depended on him. At least he would, once she made him see reason.

That's not to say that she didn’t. She was not so self-depreciating to claim that she did not have ties to the world. They were simply weaker, fragile threads of little significance that rooted her firmly, kept her from slipping. She feared what she would become without them. Her mind spiraled with the thought, presenting images far worse than Clint’s Ronin. 

It was these thoughts that she voiced whilst fighting for his life on that cliff edge. These were the fears that she hid as she cut herself free from the rock face. This was the peace that she found as she plummeted to the hard stone bottom. 

In sacrifice, she would not be left alone. In sacrifice, she would save his family, save her family, and in doing so, save herself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!


End file.
